


Animal Comforts

by Elenothar



Series: Roar 'verse [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, lots of wampus cuddles, wampus!Graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 03:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11153628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar
Summary: Sometimes it’s easier to give comfort in animagus form.





	Animal Comforts

**Author's Note:**

> It looks like I'm going to be adding little bits of stories to the main Roar verse because it's such fun to play with, so here's the first one. Mostly because I thought people other than Newt deserve some Wampus cuddles too.
> 
> Thanks again for everyone who supported Roar - you guys were a revelation.

 

-  


 

1\. Tina

  


Leaning against a shadowed wall at the edge of the bullpen, Percival Graves allows himself a moment to shut his eyes against the grief and the guilt in equal measure before he he smoothes his face back into his usual calm. It was a simple follow-up to an anonymous lead gone wrong – five smugglers instead of the expected two, and they didn’t shy away from lethal curses. Junior Auror Jordan didn’t make it out of the altercation alive. Percival grieves for every Auror killed under his command, shoulders the burden of his failure in keeping them safe, but more than anyone else he is aware that his responsibility lies with the living. Those of the team who made it home.

All throughout the bullpen Aurors huddle in quiet groups, as if unconsciously seeking comfort in their surviving colleagues. He lets his gaze roam over the room, still standing unobserved off to the side, and frowns. One Auror is missing. It was Tina who first went with Jordan before things went to shit, and it is her Percival is most worried about in the aftermath. It wasn’t her fault – in fact she did extremely well, outnumbered and taken by surprise as they were – but he doubts she’ll believe that. He wouldn’t have.

A second sweeping glance confirms that Tina isn’t anywhere to be found in the room, but Percival does catch Johnson’s eye. The other man jerks his head towards the nearest door, the one that leads to the washrooms and the filing room for all the active case notes and references that are brought up from the archives, but not much else. Percival nods his thanks and makes his way through the door. The hallway beyond is quiet. So quiet that he almost freezes in surprise when he rounds the corner and catches sight of Tina. She is sitting folded in on herself against the wall next to the door to the ladies washroom, as if she’d tried to make it to the privacy of a washroom cubicle and not quite made it. She is also crying, and Percival’s heart skips a beat at the naked misery on her face. She must’ve cast a _muffliato_ , for he still can’t hear a thing, even standing only a few metres away.

For a moment he wavers. Part of him wants to turn on his heel, maybe call Queenie, or anyone else who _isn’t_ Tina’s boss and has a shot at comforting her. Yet a rather larger part bridles at the very idea of leaving her here like this without even attempting to help. Percival is responsible for all the men and women under his command, but in the privacy of his own mind he can admit that Tina is more than that. He’d always been distantly fond of her, seeing no little of himself in her brash determination to succeed that hid a core of steel and the makings of a very competent Auror. Then Grindelwald had come, and in his wake things had changed. Now Percival is a regular dinner guest at the Goldsteins’ and knows a myriad little things about both sisters that the distance he had kept before would not have allowed him to learn. It would be disingenuous at best to call her anything other than a friend.

Percival draws a hand through his hair, thinking through the options. Seeing her superior now would probably not help Tina’s mental state, and he knows that they need to let the first rush of grief and self-recrimination run its course before there’s any chance of reaching her with words. But he also knows that she wouldn’t object to _Percival_ offering comfort. So he just has to eliminate most of what would remind her of his status as her superior. He nods to himself, decision made, and a moment later a large black and silver Wampus is standing in his place in the corridor. Percival pads forward, tail swishing gently in his wake. The moment he steps through her spell is unmistakeable, the sound of quiet sobs suddenly loud to his sensitive ears.

Tina looks up, eyes wide and wet, and makes as if to stand, but Percival doesn’t give her the opportunity. Before she can do more than plant her hands on the ground, he settles onto his haunches right next to her, providing a long line of warmth along her side. Then he curls his tail over her shoulder and starts to purr quietly. Newt assures him that it’s indeed a soothing sound – and that it’s not just the Occamies who think so – and the rhythmic vibrations cover the shaking of Tina’s shoulders.

He doesn’t look at her, silver eyes trained forwards, and ever so slowly Tina begins to relax. Perhaps it’s the warmth, or the purr, or the simple fact that in this form he can’t talk at her, try to offer absolution or sympathy. Percival doesn’t much care what the reason is, only steadies himself as she begins to lean into him more and more.

There would be time for words later.

  


2\. Queenie

  


Percival has never much thought about legilimenses, beyond making sure he isn’t vulnerable to their ability, assessing the threat level attached to those registered as such, and quietly feeling grateful that this isn’t something he has to deal with himself. But when a foreign presence bumps against his shields, he takes notice. The only reason he doesn’t immediately go for his wand is that it feels less like an attack and more like an accident. There’s also something just a little bit familiar about the touch, even one so quickly withdrawn. He frowns. There’s only one legilimens he knows well enough to recognise by the feel of their mind, and in all the time he has known her, Queenie has never once lost control of her powers while at work.

Without hesitation Percival reverses his steps, following the faint traces of her presence. The meeting with the President will have to wait – it’s not like it’s more than a formality, a routine check in with him once a week to make sure his department is still running smoothly.

He finds Queenie in an abandoned corridor on the fourth floor, hands clenching around a tray stacked high with steaming mugs of coffee. She flinches at his approach, eyes tightly shut against something he can’t see.

“Queenie?” he asks quietly, making himself as small and unobtrusive as he can while steadily stepping closer.

“Mr. Graves.”

Her voice is strained, and she still hasn’t opened her eyes. It almost feels strange to hear her call him _Mr. Graves_ rather than _Percival_. Yet however flighty she might appear at first glance, she has always been unfailingly professional in the workplace – aside from her habit of turning up in the DMLE with coffee and pastries, which is close enough to her real duties that no one has complained. Admittedly, anyone would think twice about reporting the person who routinely supplies the entire Auror taskforce with treats. Aurors tend to take that kind of thing personally.

“Tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, because he knows that sometimes commands are not the right approach.

She opens her eyes, deep and flickering. “Too many voices.”

Percival frowns, mind skipping through possibilities. MACUSA is a crowded place – if Queenie’s control is slipping then it would be easy to get overwhelmed.

“It’s that poor Auror’s death. Everyone’s in a right tizzy,” she explains, though he hadn’t asked. It makes more sense than he would like. Deaths in the line of duty are thankfully rare. The downside is that it shakes people all the more when it _does_ happen.

Looking at the hints of dark circles peeking through the make-up under Queenie’s eyes, Percival hazards a guess that she hasn’t been resting well recently anyway, which probably doesn’t help. Nor, in this case, would the proximity to Tina, who had been hit particularly hard by Jordan’s death.

“I’m relieving you for the rest of the day,” Percival says briskly and offers her his arm. “Consider yourself on sick leave.”

Her weak answering smile only convinces him that this is definitely a necessary measure. As soon as she places her hand on his arm, he apparates. He doesn’t usually abuse the privilege – wouldn’t count this case as abuse for that matter – but being the Director of Magical Security and thus arguably the second-most powerful person working for MACUSA does have its perks. Being allowed to apparate from anywhere within the building is one of the more useful ones.

They reappear in a small alley near the Goldsteins’ lodgings. Even as he tugs Queenie up the stairs to her flat, she has started relaxing against his grip, away from the multitude of minds in the Woolworth building. By the time he has badgered her into lying down on the sofa, her breathing isn’t nearly as strained anymore. Yet there are still stress lines around her eyes, and minute flinches whenever he gets close to her.

“You can still feel my mind, despite the shields,” he deduces, mouth tightening in worry.

She nods, misery in the corners of her eyes. “It’s better than unshielded minds, but there’s a… buzz.”

Percival opens his mouth to suggest that he leave, now that she’s more or less isolated in her flat, but stops at the expression on her face, achingly familiar.

 _But I cannot bear to be alone right now_.

He nods sharply, casting about for an alternative solution. When the answer comes, he almost laughs at its simplicity. After all he had done much the same for Tina just a couple of days before. These days it takes little more than a thought and a quick tug at his magic to change to his Wampus form, and as soon as his paws land on the floor Queenie gasps in quiet relief.

With her lying on the sofa, he curls up on the floor in front of it and makes sure to keep his breathing loud enough for Queenie to hear.

After a while, a hand lands in the fur at the nape of his neck, allowing him to feel the moment the last tremor fades into nothingness.

  


3\. Newt

  


Newt has been working for three days straight. As far as Percival can tell he hasn’t done more than take hurried, restless catnaps in the entire time he has been trying to save the Hippogriff they found dying on the outskirts of New York City. While his Aurors chase down leads for a possible culprit, Percival has spent all the time he can spare from his job at Newt’s side. He can’t do much beside handing Newt things when he asks for them and occasionally getting the other man to eat and drink at least a little, but he does his best to provide a steady, comforting presence.

Despite all of Newt’s efforts, the Hippogriff breathes her last on the evening of the third day and Newt – Newt simply _stops_. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t collapse with grief, he just stands over her body, looking blankly at the proud of curve of her beak and doesn’t move.

Percival, there with him till the end even as he hates his own uselessness, leans down to close the Hippogriff’s eyes and then reaches out to Newt.

“Come here, love,” he says gently and Newt slumps into him as if someone cut his strings. Though hardly surprising, it’s beyond disconcerting to see him so still, after witnessing the manic energy that powered him through the last three days. Frowning in worry, Percival slides his arms under Newt and carries him into the shed and to the bed.

What Newt needs most right now is comfort, a proper meal, and rest. The meal will have to wait, but Percival will damn well make sure he gets the other two. Newt doesn’t resist when Percival lays him on the bed and piles blankets on either side of Newt’s body. Though he usually runs hot, his body is cool to the touch, exhausted by what Newt has put it through.

Then Percival takes his wand, casts a _lumos minima_ that does little more than emit a soft, yellow glow and positions his wand on the bedside table so that it points towards Newt. In the magical light, when he changes, his black fur turns into a night sky, darkness shot through with streaks of glittering silver. Newt has always been fond of the effect, and though he still doesn’t speak or move when Percival drapes his warm, furry body over Newt’s supine form, some of the tenseness goes out of him.

Cocooned by Percival and blankets, Newt slowly begins to thaw.

  


4\. Theseus

  


While Percival maintains that the idea of sending out an international taskforce of Aurors to take down Grindelwald as he rampages through Germany is a sound idea, the particulars aren’t going well at the moment.

“Retreat!”

The explosion rips through trees and people alike and for one heart-stopping moment all Percival can think is _Theseus, don’t be dead_. Anger at Grindelwald has been bubbling at the back of his mind for a long time, but this jolt of visceral fear is new, almost overpowering in its intensity. Only when his gaze finally falls on Theseus, breathing and _alive_ , crouched low to the ground a few metres away from him does the pounding of Percival’s heart subside again.

Percival steps closer and the pounding transforms into a painful clench. He recognises the blankness in Theseus’ eyes, the lack of presence, the trembling of his hands.

“Theseus?” The other man doesn’t react to the touch of Percival’s hand on his arm. “Theseus, look at me. Focus on me. We need to move.”

But Theseus remains crouched, immobile beyond the quivering of tension through his solid frame. Percival takes a deep breath, expression tightening in regret for what he’s about to do. Then he slaps Theseus’ cheek, hard enough to leave a faint imprint of red. When he draws his hand back, his friend’s eyes are following the motion, a spark of awareness returned to them that does little to squash the bile rising in Percival’s throat.

There’s no time to deal with this right now.

“I’ll shift. Then get on my back,” he orders quietly, but with enough steel to forestall any argument. “I’ll get you to safety.”

As far as he can tell the rest of the taskforce has already scattered. They didn’t have the manpower to deal with the ambush. Keeping Theseus alive is his priority right now.

Theseus is still reacting sluggishly, his mind not quite _there_ , but when Percival transforms into a Wampus right in front of his eyes, he shuffles forward until he can rest his face in the soft fur. As much as Percival wants to give him this reprieve, he has no idea where Grindelwald or his followers are right now, and every minute they stay in the same spot increases the risk that they’ll be found. He himself is too tired to force his way through the anti-apparition wards they’d run into right before the explosion. Rumbling quietly deep in his throat, he nudges with his snout, then pushes Theseus towards his back with a paw.

Theseus’ hand on his shoulder is shaky, but with some effort he manages to drag himself onto Percival’s back. For the first time he’s actively grateful for the size of his animagus form. Theseus is anungainly weight on his back, half slumped over Percival’s neck, but his six legs still bear them both. He begins to walk, away from the blast crater and further into the woods. Theseus’ grip on his fur borders on painful, but he doesn’t want the other man to slip off his back so Percival bears it silently. More than a shambling trot is impossible with the additional weight, but adrenaline keeps him going for many minutes, until the stench of the battlefield is gone from his nostrils and he can hear only the sounds of the forest around them.

Finally he halts, softly rumbling again. Theseus seems to understand his intent for he slides down from Percival’s back. He doesn’t move away, just sits on the ground, hands still tangled in fur as he leans again Percival.

Theseus makes a small, broken sound as Percival shifts back, hands falling to his sides. Percival looks at him, then glances at the grove of trees he’s run them too.

“All right, I’ll change back again. We can stay here for the night, we should be safe enough.”

Percival very much hopes that will not be a lie, but his strength is swiftly fading and their options limited. While he still has hands and magic, he quickly puts together a small shelter should it rain, and places rudimentary wards to keep them hidden and alert him to anyone’s approach. Then he manhandles Theseus into the shelter under the big oak and shifts back into Wampus form.

This is how he spends the night, curled around a fitfully slumbering Theseus, watchful silver eyes scanning the darkness all around.

Soon he will have to rest, but for now he will stand guard.

  


5\. Percival

  


Stalking through the hallways of MACUSA in his Wampus shape with all of his instincts going haywire is not how Percival thought this day would go. Whoever invented the spell that forces an animagus into their non-human form and made it impossible to reverse other than waiting a few hours until it wears off belongs consigned to the deepest, most fiery depths of hell. He rounds a corner, tail twitching irritably as a group of witches jumps at his passage. This is what he gets for grudgingly letting the world know of his status as an animagus – people take advantage. A perp, already arrested and about to be hustled into the cell block, decided that it would be worth it to reveal his concealed second wand just to cast a curse on Percival when his back was turned. Why in the worlds the wizard hadn’t cast a more harmful spell is beyond Percival, unless he was more interested in humiliating him than actively harming the Director of Magical Security. The interrogation will hopefully shed light on the man’s motives. In the meantime, he’s going to have _words_ with whoever conducted the weapons search on the wizard. As soon as he can _have_ words again, that is.

Percival’s ears join his tail in twitching compulsively. He’s usually comfortable in his Wampus form these days, but the less-than-ideal circumstances paired with the fact that he is once more _stuck_ in this form after being forced into without his consent is making his skin crawl. It doesn’t matter that his rational mind knows it’s temporary – right now he’s stuck, both in his skin and in a crowded building surrounded by people who react to him with wariness or fear. And he can’t even leave, because MACUSA feels like his territory almost as much as Newt’s suitcase and his own flat and it was _invaded_. Just at the thought a deep growl builds in his chest and he has to bite down on the sound. He doesn’t want to frighten anyone any more than they already are. Well, most anyone. He did growl at Senior Researcher Linsky, but the man more than had it coming. He’s far too interested in Percival’s Wampus form as it is, and the realisation that the Wampus he had wanted to experiment on is, in fact, _human_ had done nothing to quench the bastard’s scientific fervour.

Finishing his second lap of the entire building, Percival trots into the elevator. Red doesn’t even blink, just asks, “Major Investigations Department?” and operates the handle at Percival’s nod. The goblin has worked at MACUSA for longer than Percival has been alive – the Director of Magical Security prowling around as a Wampus probably barely even registers as unusual.

A lot of heads spring up when he enters the main floor of the DMLE – at least his Aurors, on the whole, look a lot less wary and fearful than the rest of MACUSA (as they should – he has, after all, interacted with them in his form several times now), though he could do without the obvious worry colouring Tina’s expression.

Johnson approaches him first, hand outstretched as if to both placate him and pet his fur.

Percival hisses a warning, ears going back to lie flat against his skull. Fortunately Johnson takes the hint and steps back. Percival is feeling trapped and jumpy, he doesn’t want anyone touching him right now.

“All right, all right, no touching,” Johnson says, loudly enough that it serves as a warning to the whole department. “Boss, just go into your office, all right? You’re scaring the staff.”

Percival huffs, tail still twitching, but decides that he might as well. Yet when he reaches the door to his sanctum, he halts. In one corner, someone had made a nest of blanket and pillows, with charmed sunlight streaming onto it. The smell of Jacob’s peach pie wafts through the air.

Turning around, he directs a pointed look at Tina, the most likely culprit.

She shrugs, an uncertain smile on her face. “We fire-called Newt to ask what we could do to make you more comfortable. He’s on his way back.”

He knows he should feel guilty – Newt had been supposed to stay abroad for at least two more weeks – but the relief is too great. Newt’s presence will help, it always does.

Percival nods his head at her and strolls into the office. Tina doesn’t need any prompting to close the door behind him. With some effort and contortions he’d rather not repeat, he managed to use the toilet in an out-of-the-way washroom on his round through the building earlier, so he’ll probably get away with hiding in here until the spell wears off. For a moment he stares at the small room, unblinking. Relief at the lack of others in his space and dimmer noise level wars with the feeling of being shut in, trapped between four walls. The situation now is completely different to his captivity – there is no Grindelwald, no cage, no twisted mirror image.He isn’t even in any pain, and yet he can’t shake the cold feeling deep in his bones at the lack of choice involved.

At least he’s still rational enough to realise that his stubbornness is getting him nowhere, so he pads over to the sunlit nest and plops down into its softness. Warmth rushes over his fur, sinking into his skin and some of the tension flees his body. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that he’s in Newt’s suitcase, lazing somewhere in Addie’s habitat.

He opens his eyes again when the door opens with a slight creak, ears pricking when he recognises Newt. He looks slightly travel-worn and dusty but healthy enough, and Percival rumbles a greeting, followed by a questioning wiggle of his whiskers.

“I was quite near Orlando when the call came through,” Newt explains, setting down his suitcase before joining Percival in the makeshift nest.

Percival narrows his eyes at him. Newt shifts a little on the pillows, though he looks more amused than guilty.

“It’s your own fault for being so good at your job. Throwing around your name gets things done astoundingly fast. Including getting a portkey to MACUSA.”

Percival is probably allowed to feel a little smug about that. He does feel a little guilty, too, now that Newt is here and distracting him from his dark thoughts, and attempts to convey that by hanging his head a little.

Newt scratches behind his ears.

“It’s fine, dear. Your Aurors did the right thing in calling me.” He frowns. “Besides I think the reports of Bunyips found in the Floridian swamp really are exaggerations. I found no signs of that at all, and besides they’re native to Australia. Plenty of alligators though.”

Percival settles himself a little more comfortably against Newt’s side and makes an encouraging noise. For the next two hours he half drifts, half listens to Newt recount his most recent adventures, liberally sprinkled with facts about yet more creatures he wants to write about. It’s enough to finally make Percival relax fully, distracted as he is from any residual panic over the situation.

Newt is hoarse by the time the spell lifts and Percival can finally put his arms around the other man and greet him properly with a kiss.

“Welcome back,” Newt says and Percival’s answering smile is just as helpless as it was the first time he recognised his love for Newt.

“There needs to be a counter-spell for this,” he mumbles, unrepentantly burying his face in Newt’s hair. He doesn’t say anything else – he doesn’t need to. Percival never forgets that it was Newt who first found him in Grindelwald’s dungeon, who had seen what the other wizard had done to him first hand. Newt understands.

Newt nods silently, his hair tickling Percival’s nose.

“Let’s go home first.”

They decamp, but not before splitting the peach pie between them. Some priorities have to be retained after all.

  



End file.
